


Don't Tell Me If I'm Dying

by morningCrescent



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Frottage, Humanstuck, M/M, Sex Repulsion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-13 04:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1212127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morningCrescent/pseuds/morningCrescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are desperately, painfully in love with one utterly unavailable Dave Strider.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You love him. 

You love him and it hurts and you’re a fucking idiot because you know it will never work out. He’ll never make himself emotionally available to you, and it kills you every day of your life. Every day you sit next to him in art history, your last class of the day and the class you probably give the fewest fucks about—yes, even fewer than PE. Every day he teases you, touching your side or your thigh, leaning his head on your shoulder, cracking jokes under his breath about the slides being shown at the front of the room. Every touch, every word, every way in which he acknowledges your existence—it hurts. It hurts so fucking bad and you crave it. You need it. Need him.

You try to reciprocate in small ways, ways that you hope don’t come off as desperate, but are apparent enough for someone as stupid as him to notice. So when he leans on you, you lean back. When he tells a joke, you make sure he can see your smile—the smile _he_ put there. But every time, every _fucking_ time you reach out, he pulls away. Sits up straight. Goes back to filling his notebook with shitty doodles. And every time, it kills you a little more inside, and you want to cry. You want to cry and grab him and kiss his stupid face and never let him go, even if he hates you or yells at you or tells you to leave him alone. It’s pathetic, and it’s sick, you know it is. You know this isn’t how a healthy friendship works. You’re not even sure why you still call him your friend.

It’s another one of those days. Another school day spent barely keeping your eyes open through each torturous class. Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration. Math isn’t so bad, and you even kind of like history—just not art history. So now it’s the last period of the day, the period you get to spend sitting next to Dave. Well, “get to” is one way of putting it. More like he was the only friend you shared the class with and so, like the overly-dependent loser you are, you sat next to him and have refused to sit anywhere else since.

Class passes as usual. You stare absently at the slides in front of you, trying to half-listen to your teacher talk about Dadaism while ignoring Dave blowing air into your ear. At one point, his hand brushes your thigh in a decidedly non-accidental way. Then he scoots his chair right up next to yours and starts pressing his shoulder against you. Every second is agony, and you want so badly to push back against him, to crawl into his lap, to get so close you’re practically occupying the same space; you want to meld your lips with his and feel his tongue against yours and his hands on your face, on your waist, on your—

The bell rings, jolting you out of your bitter reverie. You put your things away slowly, simultaneously hoping Dave will go ahead and leave without you, and hoping he will stay by your side until you’re ready to leave. For better or worse, he goes with the latter option, and the two of you leave the classroom together. John, whose last period class is in the room right next to yours, is waiting just outside the door.

Dave greets John with a fist bump and a grin that you desperately want to keep all for yourself. You envy the ease with which the two boys interact.

“Hey bro, you ready to head out?”

“Yeah, just a sec,” John says, turning his attention towards you. “Hey Karkat, what’s up with you?” he asks, showing off those big dumb teeth of his. What a dork; you can’t believe you used to have a crush on him. Are you just emotionally incapable of _not_ developing crushes on every single one of your friends? Well, at least you have a type, you suppose.

“I don’t know, nothing really,” you shrug, eyes glued firmly to the floor. 

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks, sounding concerned.

“Yeah man, you're sounding a little out of it,” Dave agrees. He pats you on the back, his hand lingering just a moment too long and your throat constricts so you cough (which doesn’t help), and then he laughs, and you want so badly to punch that stupid face of his but you also want to kiss him all over and now your eyes are stinging with the strain of holding back tears.

“I gotta go to the bathroom,” you mumble, reluctantly shrugging Dave’s hand off your back.

You turn tail and head towards the restroom, ignoring John calling after you. You stumble through the door, pressing your hands into your eyes and feeling like you’re about to pass out because your lungs feel like shriveled up balloons and you can’t breathe and everything is blurry and you collapse against the bathroom wall and hide your face in your knees.

“Karkat?”

It’s John. He followed you, of course. Fuck, why won’t he and Strider just leave you alone and go be best friends somewhere else? Your chest is aching and you long to sob, but like hell are you going to break down crying in a school bathroom because seriously, who the fuck does that?

You hear him sitting down next to you, and you chance a sidelong glance at him. He’s also got his knees to his chest and he’s looking at you, eyes full of concern and apprehension.

“Karkat,” he tries again, softer. You sniff.

“What.”

“Are you okay? Shit, that’s a stupid question. I just mean… what happened?”

“Nothing, mind your own fucking business.” The words come out thick with mucus. You really don’t give a shit. John sighs.

“Look, I’m not so great at… this, but, I don’t know, do you want to like, talk or something?”

“No.”

“Okay,” he says simply, and gingerly puts an arm around your shoulders. The two of you stay like that for a moment before you speak again.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” you whimper.

“That’s not true,” he starts, then pauses. “Well, I mean, you probably are in some ways. We all are. I know I’m pretty fucking dumb sometimes. But whatever you’re talking about now, it’s not true.”

You snort. Classic John. A tactless dumbass who still somehow manages to be charming.

“I’m starting to remember why I had that crush on you.” He laughs tersely.

“Heh, yeah, that… sure was a thing that happened.”

Of course he knows you used to like him; it was all your friends would gossip about back then, so it was only a matter of time before he figured it out. By the time he put two and two together, though, you were already over him.

“So do you wanna tell me what’s wrong?” he asks after a short silence.

“I’m a fucking idiot, that’s what’s wrong.” Fuck, the tears are really coming now. Yep, they’re not stopping anytime soon.

“Okay, but do you wanna be more specific?”

“I just, fuck—” You’re interrupted by a hiccupping sob. “ _Fuck_! I don’t know, I c–can’t… nothing works out for me!”

“Is this about a guy?”

“ _No!_ ” Sniff. “…Yes.”

John just moves to kneel in front of you and grasps your face between his hands, forcing you to look at him. You squeeze your eyes shut, hot tears spilling over and leaving burning tracks down your cheeks.

“Hey, come on, it’s okay, shit, I’m not good at this, sorry.”

He wraps himself around you, cradling you, and you press your face into his shoulder and sob like a fucking baby because that’s what you feel like right now. He starts shooshing you and stroking your back rhythmically, and it feels nice. Your breathing starts to even out, but it’s still ragged and tearful and you can hear the pathetic whine squeezing from your throat.

“Fuck, I l–love him,” you murmur into his shirt, still hiccupping a little. He just hums knowingly. “I love him so much. How… how do I stop it?” you beg, looking into his eyes. He just sighs and brushes away some hair stuck to your face with tears.

“I don’t know,” he admits, then kisses your forehead. “I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> __[don't tell me if i'm dying](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GWcXuu16ttc)  
>  'cause i don't wanna know  
> if i can't see the sun, maybe i should go  
> don't wake me 'cause i'm dreaming  
> of angels on the moon  
> where everyone you know  
> never leaves too soon


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just for reference, though it's not really relevant:  
> • this story takes place in new york city. the characters go to laguardia high school in manhattan because that's where i went and i am lazy.  
> • dave and karkat are art majors (hence having to take art history), and john is an instrumental major (you'd think dave would be an instrumental major too but all that formal music learnin' just isn't for him).  
> • all places referenced are indeed real, including karkat's apartment building.

The walk home is spent inside your own head. It’s a short walk, considering you only live a few blocks from school—in an apartment complex on 69th street (yes, haha, so funny, that sure was a laugh in middle school). You block out the rest of the world, and you think.

You’ve tried to rationalize it. You’ve tried telling yourself that it’s not really _love_ , that you’re just a lonely, desperate teenager so unused to affection and being touched in ways that feel nice that you’ll latch onto even the tiniest amount of attention and obsess over it until you’ve convinced yourself of something that isn’t even there. But much as you hate to admit it, this feels an awful lot like something more than just the obsessive infatuation of an emotionally (and sexually) stunted adolescent.

You hate Dave Strider for making you feel this way. You hate him, you fucking loathe him, you wish he would just leave you alone forever.

( _You don’t, you don’t, you don’t._ )

He’s just an obnoxious, pretentious tool who takes himself too seriously and has no respect for the feelings of others.

( _He’s not, he’s funny and charming and he acts like a douche because he doesn’t want people to know just how vulnerable he is, how much he cares and how much he takes things to heart, how afraid he is all the time—afraid of being hurt, afraid of being alone; he carries the weight of the world on those shoulders and you so badly want to share some of that burden and let him know he’s not actually alone, want to hold him until he forgets all the bad things, want to give him every last piece of you so he doesn’t have to be afraid anymore._ )

By the time you get to your room, you are exhausted. It’s been a stressful day and you are ready to forget the world. You busy yourself for a while with the internet, and even manage to get a little homework done. You’re in the middle of scrawling some math problems on loose leaf when your phone chimes, indicating a text. Three guesses who it’s from, and the first two don’t count.

yo dude what was up with you today

john told me you were pretty upset

is everything alright

You sit there for a minute, trying to decide whether or not to respond. In the end, you figure there’s no use leaving him hanging. He’d probably just keep inundating you with messages until you’d said something.

I’M FINE.

That’s a lie if you ever told one.

SCHOOL HAS JUST BEEN EXTRA SHITTY LATELY, OKAY?

You anxiously await his reply, hoping he accepts your transparent attempt at dodging the question. At least thirty seconds go by before you get another message.

yeah bro i feel you

like what even are they trying to accomplish assigning us all this bullshit

i call shenanigans

You wish you didn’t huff a tiny laugh at that.

anyway wanna hang out after school tomorrow

maybe play some video games

or you know

whatever

Wow, shit, there goes your stomach shooting up into your esophagus. Dave is asking you to hang out. _Dave_ is asking _you_ to _hang out_. When was the last time you spent time with him outside of school? When was the last time you spent time with _anyone_ outside of school?

You want to say yes. You miss being able to just hang out and have fun with him, and you psych yourself into thinking maybe you can quash those awful feelings long enough to actually act normal around him.

SURE, WHY NOT. YOU CAN COME OVER, MY DAD WORKS LATE ON FRIDAYS SO HE WON’T BOTHER US.

Shit, that sounds like you’re planning something you wouldn’t want to be caught doing.

I MEAN. YOU KNOW HOW PARENTS ARE.

Shit, _shit_ , he kind of doesn’t, oh fuck, god you’re fucking this up so badly you’d be better off dying on the spot.

OR. GUARDIANS. ALWAYS FUSSING AND MEDDLING AND JUST BEING ANNOYING IN GENERAL.

Phew, nice save. Hopefully you didn’t make so much of an ass of yourself that Dave now hates you.

yeah sounds good

see you tomorrow

Oh thank god. Relief floods you and your stomach settles back into position. You did it. You successfully arranged a… something, not a date, _definitely_ not a date. Whatever it is, you’ve arranged it and it’s happening tomorrow and you’re happy to spend time with a friend. It just so happens that you’re kind of sort of a tiny bit massively in love with him.

Now you just have to keep it together.


	3. Chapter 3

You do indeed keep it together. In fact, you surprise yourself with how well you’re keeping it together. You make it through class alright—Dave is actually quite tolerable. He seems to be more focused on doodling in his notebook than harassing you. He spares you a couple of glances, complete with that (gorgeous, wonderful, radiant) slight smile of his. It makes your heart clench and ache, but not in a bad way. By the time the bell rings, you’re practically vibrating with excitement.

The walk to your apartment is equally lighthearted. Dave points out the Apple store and tells you he’s not allowed there anymore after he was caught changing all the display laptop backgrounds to pictures of Nicolas Cage. You complain about the fact that the Barnes & Noble is now a Century 21, which you think is bullshit because it was where you got all your books and also they had a Starbucks on the top floor. Dave agrees that it is indeed bullshit.

Once you get to your apartment, the usual teenagers-hanging-out “what do you wanna do” awkwardness sets in. Thankfully, Dave reminds you of his video game suggestion.

“I have MySims Racing,” you offer. “It’s, uh, basically a less-cool version of Mario Kart.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You have a Wii.” 

“Yes I have a Wii, I know it’s not a _real console_ or whatever but it’s what I have!” 

“Aight,” Dave says, kicking off his shoes and flopping onto your couch. “Be warned, though, I’m like the best at racing games.”

“Like hell,” you say as you set up the game and place a controller in his hands, “I’ve played every track like fifty times. Sit your ass down and get ready to be schooled, Strider.”

“My ass is already quite seated, _Vantas_ ,” he replies with a grin.

 

* * *

 

Thirty minutes later, you’ve played every track and thoroughly defeated Dave at almost all of them. He swears it’s because the game is stupid and for babies and that once he gets some food in him he’ll be ready to really show you who’s boss.

The two of you are currently sharing a bag of chips (unfortunately not Doritos like he likes, but they’ll have to do) and sitting in comfortable (relative) silence. Dave of course feels the need to interject every so often, mouth still full, to remind you that you’ve yet to see him in the zone.

He sets the chips down briefly to take a swig of soda. A little bit dribbles down the side of his mouth and you watch him wipe it away with his sleeve.

For some reason the words _wanna make out?_ flash through your head, as if you’d actually be brave (stupid?) enough to say them, as if they would be met with anything other than an incredulous stare and quite probably the loss of a friend.

You don’t realize you’ve been staring at Dave’s mouth until he shoulders you. You flinch, look at his eyes, then look away.

“What up, bro? Can’t stop staring at my sexy face? I know I’m beautiful, dude, ain’t gotta deny it.” And then he’s doing it again, the thing he always does. He’s leaning into you, purposely making you uncomfortable, why did you ever think he was actually a good friend—

“Fuck off!” You surprise yourself with the volume with which you shout, the force with which you shove him away. “God damn it, Dave, do you have no respect for personal space?” You stand, not even fully in control of the words coming out of your mouth. “For fuck’s sake, what are you even trying to accomplish? Is this some big fucking joke to you? Is that what this is about? Yeah, let’s fuck with Karkat, that’s a real fucking laugh! Do you enjoy making people miserable? Are you so fucked up that you get off on other people’s misery? Fuck, I have had it up to here with your bullshit, why do I keep letting you trick me into thinking you’re an actual decent fucking human being?”

You don’t give him a chance to respond before you’ve stormed off to your room, slamming the door behind you and collapsing onto your bed.

 _Fuuuuuck_ , you think. You fucked up, he hates you, he’s never going to want to talk to you again… Do you want him to, though? If everything you said is true, maybe it’s for the best if you never see each other again. _Fuck_ , that thought hits you right in the heart because _you love him, you fucking love him, and he’s terrible and wonderful all at once and you’re killing yourself like this_ , and you start to cry.

“Karkat?” After a few minutes of leaking fluids into your pillow there’s a light tapping at your door, followed by the sound of it being opened. “…Karkat.” He says it simply, and you can hear the hurt in his voice. You think maybe he’s been crying a little as well. You hope so. (Except you don’t.)

He approaches slowly, carefully, like one might approach a wild animal. You feel the bed dip when he sits on the edge, and you press your face farther into your tear-soaked pillow.

“Mm frry,” you whimper, god damned whimper you utter piece of shit.

“Don’t be.” His voice sounds tired, worn bare, not bright and self-assured like usual. “I… fuck, I’m. I’m sorry. I really am. I’m an asshole, I know I am, I just… I don’t know why—I mean, I don’t know how to… uggghh.” You can hear him flopping back across the foot of your bed.

Once you’re pretty sure no more tears are going to come, you sit up, bring your knees to your chest.

“Dave,” you croak. “I shouldn’t have. Yelled at you.”

“Yes, you should have,” he sighs into the arm thrown over his face. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I kept teasing you. I’m an idiot and I. I shouldn’t have been such an asshole in the first place.”

“Why _do_ you feel the need to be such an asshole?” He sits up a little, leaning on his elbows and glancing at you before looking away.

“I. Shit. I mean, did it ever… occur to you that maybe I was being so, ugh, touchy-feely because I… kind of. Like you?” His cheeks are splotchy and pink, and you just about die of a heart attack right then and there. You sit in silence for a bit before Dave starts up again. “Did you really not consider that? I mean, I thought I was laying it on kind of thick, but I didn’t—” Your hand on his mouth shuts him up.

“Of course I considered it! I considered it for all of five seconds before determining that it was absolutely not a possibility because I _wanted_ you to like me and things I want never happen and I don’t give a shit how petulant that makes me sound!”

He seems to think on that for a moment, then says, “Sorry to overturn your entire worldview,” with that ghost of a smile. Then with less certainty, “So that means you like me back.”

“Well… yes, okay? Yes! But you kept pulling away from me when I tried to, you know, show it back!” He blushes harder at that.

“I know. I just… didn’t want to convince myself of anything, you know?”

“No, actually, I don’t know. What the utter shit does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” he sighs. “I was too scared to let myself believe you were, you know, reciprocating! So I… played it off, I guess. And it was kind of a dick move, I know it was, but I didn’t… I don’t really know how to do feelings.”

“I know you don’t.”

“So… I get it if you want me to leave you alone forever, now,” he says, sitting up fully.

“You really need to work on your listening skills,” you say.

And then you kiss him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh, sort-of warning i guess, this chapter talks (kinda) explicitly about sex repulsion and some of the bad feelings associated with it but i promise it gets okay pretty quickly, and then even better than okay (mind the rating!) so, idk, just be aware if that kind of thing squicks you out.

It’s clumsy and short, a quick peck on his lips before you’re pulling back and blushing and Dave’s face is bright red all the way under his shades. Your heart is racing and for a few terrifying moments he just looks at you, and you’re positive you’ve ruined everything, except he’s removing his shades and setting them off to the side somewhere and—oh, _oh_ , he’s kissing you back and it’s soft, his lips pressing against yours, and you breathe out a sigh because _wow this is your first kiss and it feels really good._

You fall back into a half-reclining position and Dave follows, leaning over you and bringing a hand up to cup your face. You’re not really sure what to do with your body, so you settle for wrapping your arms around his neck, and now you’re lying down completely. You tilt your head and the kiss deepens and it feels fucking amazing, holy shit why did no one ever tell you kissing could be this great? You make a moaning sort of noise in the back of your throat and Dave responds and he tastes like onion and sour cream and it’s the best fucking thing in the world.

Then he pulls back a little, his lips dragging sort of teasingly against yours and the weight of his body bearing down on you makes you shudder, _god_ it feels nice, almost… almost too nice, you are way too easy to rile up. He reaches down and presses his palm against your crotch and that’s. Definitely a boner, which Dave is touching, shit, no, that is a definite nope, “No, no no no, stop, stop…”

You don’t even realize you’re protesting until you feel the weight and warmth lift all at once, Dave shooting to the other end of the bed and when you glance over you go cold at the horrified look on his face.

“Oh god,” he chokes. “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry, I’m a fucking idiot, I should’ve asked, I didn’t, didn’t think, _fuck_ I am the biggest piece of shit in the world—”

“ _Dave_ ,” you interrupt. He looks like some sort of wounded animal and you can’t help but feel guilty even though you know you shouldn’t.

“Sorry,” he repeats simply, averting his gaze. “I can go, if you want,” and he makes to get up but you catch him by the wrist before he can.

“It’s… it’s okay, it’s not your fault, I just…” You just what? Got turned on by a little kissing and then chickened out of the actual sexy part? Feel so disgusted by your own anatomy that you freak out every time things start happening below the belt? Can’t even get _yourself_ off even though you desperately want to and everyone else in the world can so clearly there’s something horribly wrong with you?

“We don’t… have to be doing this. It’s okay, really, I get it if you’re not interested.”

“No, it’s not…” You lick your lips and run your hands through your hair. “It’s nothing like that, okay? I mean, I am interested, it’s just that I can’t… I mean I think… I’m pretty sure something’s wrong with me.”

Well. That’s out there now.

“What do you mean?” Dave is cautiously inching back towards you, pointedly keeping his hands in his lap and his eyes keep flicking between your face and the bed. How are you supposed to explain yourself? How do you explain something you yourself don’t even understand?

“I don’t know. It’s like… I can’t, uh,” fuck, this is going to be embarrassing. “I can’t, like, do… certain things. I mean, I can, but it feels… wrong, I guess? Just, really weird and bad and gross and it makes me wanna throw up and I don’t even know why, and I’ve tried… you know—” you make a vague gesture that could be construed as jacking off “—but it doesn’t help, it doesn’t even feel good, it’s like the inside of my body is _wrong_ and I _hate_ it, I just want to be able to get off like a normal fucking human being but I _can’t_ , I can’t and it’s not _fair_ and I don’t know what’s wrong with me but I’m _broken_ , Dave, I’m broken and I don’t know what to _do_!”

By now there are tears swelling in your eyes and your voice has cracked at least twice. This is the first time you’ve really tried putting everything into words and somehow that makes it more real, more painful, and Dave is close enough that you throw yourself at him and start crying into his shirt—you’ve been doing a lot of crying these past few days, and you’ll be the first to admit that you’re kind of a gigantic fucking crybaby. He hesitates a moment, then wraps his arms around you and you like how safe it makes you feel. You’ve missed feeling safe with him.

“Hey, shh, it’s okay, you’re not broken, Karkat, why would you ever think that?” He speaks soothingly, starting to rock you ever so slightly.

“Because I am,” you manage to whine against his chest.

“You’re not,” he says firmly, and you want so badly to believe him but you can’t. “Do you think…” You pull back a bit to look up at him. “Do you think you might be, I dunno, asexual or something?”

“No… I’m not,” you say in between thick gross sniffles, and shake your head for good measure. “I’m not.”

Back in middle school, when you were starting to realize that you were maybe attracted to more than just girls, you spent months researching sexuality in a desperate attempt to make sense of the many confusing thoughts clouding your head. Along the way, you learned about asexuality, but you knew almost at once that it didn’t describe you. Your deal isn’t a lack of sexual attraction or desire; it’s being incapable of acting on those feelings.

“Okay,” Dave says, lying back against the headboard, and you pillow your head on his chest. He kisses the top of your head, and it’s such an emotionally intimate gesture that your entire face flushes red. After a moment, you feel brave enough to speak up.

“What do you think is wrong with me?”

“Nothing, there’s nothing wrong with you. It’s just the way you are, you know? Like, it’s not a matter of a switch in your head never getting flipped; some people just never had a switch to begin with?”

“More like the switch got flipped but then someone tried to flip it back and the switch broke off and now everything is ruined forever,” you grumble.

Dave is silent for a while. Finally he speaks up again.

“So… what do you want to do?”

You snort. “I just… wanna do _something_ , I don’t want my own fucked-uppedness to prevent me from experiencing, you know, things!” He makes a sound like concern at that.

“Shit, man, I don’t really know what that means.”

“Yeah, well, neither do I.” You really don’t. You know the whole sex thing grosses you out, you know anything even remotely having to do with genitals is a massive turn-off… and therein lies the problem, because how are you supposed to experience sexual pleasure without involving the naughty bits? It’s just not possible! Sure, you like fantasizing about things, but there’s a big difference between thinking about things and actually _doing_ them.

“I mean, look, we don’t _have_ to do anything. If you don’t wanna have sex or whatever, then we won’t.”

“No!” you practically growl. “No, it’s, I don’t… _not_ want to, it’d be easy if I didn’t want to! I _do_ want to, I just, don’t know how I can without feeling like shit.” Dave hums softly and taps his fingers on your back.

“How ‘bout we just, I dunno, try things and you tell me how it feels?” Ugh, talking about _feelings_? Not really your forte. Then again, you’ve kind of been talking about your feelings for quite some time now.

“I guess,” you agree. Dave’s face brightens at that and he tugs you higher so you’re sitting more properly in his lap.

“Awesome, okay, cool, so like, what about… this?” he says, and rests his hands on your waist over your shirt. You roll your eyes.

“That’s fine, you had your fucking tongue in my mouth, I think I can handle some over-the-clothes touching in a perfectly nonsexual spot.”

“Aight, cool, so how’s this?” His fingers dip slightly under the hem of your shirt and you shudder a bit at the skin-on-skin contact.

“Yeah…” He continues upwards, sliding his hands along your sides and framing your ribcage.

“Yeah?”

“I said yeah!”

“Okay, okay, just making sure!”

He continues like this for a while, exploring your torso under your shirt, pausing every few moments to ask for confirmation. Then you’re back to kissing, and his hands are on your back, and he—oh, okay, he’s kissing your neck now, mmh, that’s really nice, wow.

He slides one hand up across your chest, brushing past—oh, that’s, eck, not good.

“Nn, don’t do that,” you mutter into his hair. He immediately removes his hand and, wow, that’s actually really comforting the way he’s listening to you.

“Sorry, gotcha, no nips.” His breath ghosts hot against your neck.

You try to scoff but it turns into a moan because _Christ_ do those neck kisses feel good, you think you could probably come just like this and—oh, speaking of which, you find yourself pressing down into Dave’s lap and it’s good, it’s really fucking good and you don’t even feel gross or freaked out or anything, you think as long as he doesn’t try to touch…

“Nngh, Dave, shit, I’m— _ohh_ , fuck!” you cry as he rolls his hips up into yours and _god_ that’s amazing, holy shit, you didn’t realize sex would feel this good…

Is this sex? Does it count? You don’t even bother contemplating that any further because you can’t really get your brain to work over the white noise and panting and hot breath as you and Dave grind against each other. He’s sucking on your neck and whimpering softly and you rub your face on his hair because it’s just _so soft_.

“What conditioner do you use,” you find yourself asking breathlessly. He laughs and you do too because geez that was pretty off-track.

“Pantene,” he says, still huffing cute little breaths into your neck as his rhythm increases and you drop your head onto his shoulder, humming and whimpering and moaning.

“D–Dave, I think, oh god,” you choke, overwhelmed by how good everything is feeling and knowing that he’d do whatever you asked of him right now, like… “Mmph, harder,” you say, capturing his lips in another kiss.

His hands grab at your hips and pull you down as he thrusts up, _fuck_ yes, everything is so good and so perfect, the two of you moaning into each other’s mouths and. Well, you don’t really want to think too hard about what’s going on down below but you know it feels really fucking nice and there’s a lot of pressing and rubbing happening in the best possible way.

Your eyes are squeezed shut and your vision is swimming with white and you whine particularly loudly when Dave moves a certain way and places his cool hands on your burning waist. _Shit_ , you’re close, or at least you think you are, you’ve never really gotten this far and the closest you’ve come to orgasm has been in your sleep and, and—

You pull away from Dave’s lips and press your face into the crook of his neck, kiss him there with your last few moans and grunts, bite down as you _finally_ come—holy shit, you’re actually having an honest-to-god _orgasm_ , every muscle in your body is clenching and unclenching and it’s fucking amazing, better than anything you’ve ever felt or imagined.

“ _Dave_ ,” you cry out, and he’s kissing you again, harder this time, running his tongue over yours and along your teeth and he’s groaning, hips stuttering in a few final thrusts, and you think you hear him try to say your name but you’re not sure.

Endorphins are swimming in your blood, everything feels so pleasant and glowy, and you suppose this is the post-sex feeling people are always talking about. Dave’s chest beneath your head is warm and you rest there for a bit, just listening to his slowing heartbeat and feeling his ribcage expanding.

He starts running a hand through your hair and you barely hear when he says your name; he sounds far-off and distant, like he’s underwater or something. The second (or third or fourth, you’re not really sure) time he says it, you respond with a simple “Hmm?”

“Dude, do you wanna, like, get out of these pants?” He sounds a little out of it, though not quite as much as you.

“Mmyeah, s’gross,” you slur, starting to notice the squishy feeling in your underwear. “Wait.” You don’t want to get up just yet. “L’stay here fr’minute.”

“Okay,” he says, stroking your hair and scritching pleasantly at your scalp. You lean into his touch and he laughs a little. “Karkat,” he says, suddenly and softly.

“Mm hmm.”

“I uh… you… I mean… you’re really cute.”

You can’t do much about that besides smile and say, “Y’r cute too.”

“Haha, wow dude, usually you’d hit me for saying something like that.” You swat ineffectually at his face and he laughs again, and keeps laughing, until you’re laughing too and the both of you are laying there like dorks cracking up about absolutely nothing.

“Er we…” you try getting your tongue around the words properly, “are we like, dating now?”

“Uh… sure, man, I guess.” You smile even wider, because you can’t be bothered to put up those walls again; what would even be the point? You just lost your virginity to this guy (well, you think you did), the least you can do is be honest about what you’re feeling.

“If we’re boyfriends—” you feel weird saying the word “—then you can’t call me ‘dude’ and ‘man’ anymore!”

“What? Come on, I call everyone ‘dude’ and ‘man’… how about ‘bro’? Can I still call you ‘bro’?”

“No asshole, that’s what you call your brother, that’s fucking creepy.”

“I call John ‘bro’ all the time! What do you want, then? Should I call you dumb pet names like ‘sweetie’ and ‘baby’?” You actually give this some consideration. That sort of stuff is right up your alley, and it would be kind of sweet… “Oh fuck, you totally want me to, don’t you? Alright, fine, sugary pet names it is.”

“Mm hmm… Dave?” you ask, leaning up to peck him quickly on the lips.

“Oh my god you are so gay. What’s up?”

“Shut up, you’re gayer. Let me up.” He does, and you grab a fresh pair of boxers and throw them at him. “Go change in the bathroom.”

He takes them, gets up, and heads for the door. Before closing it all the way, he shouts, “Gaaaaaay!” You throw a pillow at him but the door is shut before it can hit.

 _What a fucking dork_ , you think to yourself, smiling as you work your way out of your own pants.

You sure do know how to pick them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is to one last day in the shadows  
> and to know a brother's love  
> this is to new york city angels  
> and the rivers of our blood  
> this is to all of us  
> to all of us
> 
> – _angels on the moon_ , thriving ivory


End file.
